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Full text of "NightRider"

43*

flame: "I thought if I didn't get up and talk to you now, I
might never. I might look at you in the morning, and you'd
be the way you were tonight when you came through that
door, and I'd go away, and never say it."

In the pause she looked at him interrogatively, but her
folded hands were motionless in her lap, and she was erect.
His face showed nothing.

" My father-----" she began, and stopped,

"Yes?" he asked.

"He's dead "she said.

"Dead?" he repeated. " You said—out there, tonight-----"

" Yes/' she said. " I know. I couldn't say it then. Not
that way, and you sitting there. He died three days ago.
And was buried yesterday."

He straightened up, slipping his feet on the floor with a
faint, dry, rustling sound. " I'm sorry," he said.

" I'm not," she answered. " Not with him that way. Lying
there, that way. Staring, and his breath coming that way,
making that noise. All the time, day and night. No "—and
she spoke almost with vehemence, and her hands slowly
knotted in her lap—" I'm not sorry."

" I'm sorry," he repeated, as though he had not heard,

" I didn't come to tell you that," she said.

"What?" he demanded, and sank forward again, with his
elbows on his knees.

"I'm going away," she said. Her hands were quiet now,
again folded, and her voice was not much more than a
whisper. " I haven't decided where, but I'm going, I can't
stay any longer. Not here. There's no reason."

"Yes."

"Maybe St. Louis," she said; then added, "but God knows
there's no reason for me to go back .there."

"Your aunt; she's there, isn't she?"

"I wouldn't see her"—and the vehemence came back to
her voice, which was, however, steady—" not if she was burn-
ing in hell. She's—she's a bitch. You don't know.**

"No.  I didn't know."